Humble Beginnings
by Serpentine13
Summary: Evil is not born, but made. The ease with which it is made differs though. Thus, we look into a brief memory of what is sure to be one of many that helped to make a not so innocent boy into the infamous Dark Lord he would become and came so close to achieving a state of never-ending life. On shot!


**Humble Beginnings**

 **AN:** Round 13 of the QLFC. My optional prompts were **1.** (restriction) no spell can be cast, or mentioned, in your fic, **3.** (word) launch, **11.** (dialogue) "Because your mental, that's why!"

Editing done by Corvus Draconis.

* * *

I am special. This has always been a fact, the one truth that I knew for certain since my earliest memories. I could sense a difference between myself and all the other orphans in my childhood. My uniqueness only grew more defined from then on. Power, as I would later discover, favored me above all others. My discovery of magic would provide the means for me to access limitless possibilities and acquire more power than anyone has ever wielded. I would claim the world by storm and conquer Death itself. I would become Lord Voldemort.

* * *

 _I knew I was different, I knew I was special. Always, I knew there was something. - Tom M. Riddle_

I'd always kept to myself, watching the others' play, argue, and whine, studying how each of them acted in different ways. I had been approached by a couple of my 'peers', as Mrs. Cole would call them sometimes when she tried to get me to join their activities. I had ignored them. I didn't want to have to spend my time with people I didn't like and give them gifts for being my 'friends'.

The more I had watched, the less I had wanted anything to do with the other children. We had nothing in common at all; they were annoying, stupid, and weak. I wanted to take away that happiness they always had, but Mrs. Cole and the other adults would send me away to the asylum.

School was my favorite place to be, it was only there that I felt I was actually doing something worth doing. There was always more to learn: math, writing, reading, history. It was knowledge, and knowledge was power. The more I knew, the better I was compared to everyone else who didn't know what I know. That made it important.

The more I got ahead of the other students, though, the more I noticed they didn't like me. They were jealous, and their jealousy broke our peace.

"Oi, Creepy Tommy! Whatcha readin'?" Billy asked, tauntingly.

Billy Stubbs, one of the orphans I lived with, was known for pushing around those younger than him at school. A couple of his friends followed him, one was Eric Whalley. Another orphan and Billy's tagalong.

Billy's victims were usually those who got better grades than him or were a "teacher's pet".

' _They also all had parents, but I guess he's decided that I won't count as off limits anymore at school,'_ my mind chimes in.

Looking at him, Billy isn't all that frightening to me. Being nine years old he is a bit bigger than me, and he has help, witnesses. ' _I can't use_ it _then, they'd take me to the looneybin._ '

"Higher education material," I inform him shortly in a casual tone, watching him. The snub was obvious.

With the best sneer a child like Billy can come up with, he leans over, still looking down at me in my seat, and says, "I heard you might be skipping a grade. Bet you think you're smart stuff eh?"

With Billy leaning so close to me and obviously wanting to fight, I wondered shortly what he would do if I just launch myself forward, bite down on his large nose and rip it off. I feel my lips twitch, playing the the scene out in my head. ' _It would be my loss in the end, though,_ ' I reason.

Going by the frown on the older boy's face, he saw the twitch. "You know why you deserve this, don't you Tom?" Billy asked, in an oh-so-serious tone.

When I didn't give a response, Eric answered, "Because you're mental, that's why!" Billy gave snort of laughter, then sucker-punched me in the belly.

I doubled over, the wind knocked out of me, all amusement and apathy gone. Instead I feel a well of anger and sharp indignation, at being made to look weak. Gasping for air I fall out of my chair and watch as Billy and his little group of pals . I've got a new goal: revenge. I marvel at the new feelings.

I'd never really felt anger or humiliation before. I didn't just want to make Billy pay. I wanted him destroyed, and I was already coming up with a plan. Billy's favorite possession, his rabbit Coco, that he'd gotten as a kit and raised for three years now.

I felt a terrible smile stretch my lips.

* * *

 _Billy Stubbs's rabbit... well, Tom said he didn't do it, and I don't see how he could have done, but even so, it didn't hang itself from the rafters, did it? - Mrs. Cole_

It was eight o'clock, the morning after Billy tried to make me one of his victims. He now watched in horrified shock as his rabbit swung, morbidly limp, from a rope. Others were scrambling into the entrance hall of the orphanage, woken up by the nerve-wracking squeals of the now suffocated rabbit.

"Billy…" Martha, one of the younger staff members, whispered as she too stared at the scene.

"Everyone out of the hall and back to your rooms, now." Mrs. Cole had just arrived. "Phillip, go fetch a ladder and get the rabbit down, please," she directed the gardener, firmly.

Martha began herding the children who had made it to the hall back to the stairs. Billy finally began to cry and wail when Martha reached him.

When I reached the door just before heading up to bed, I turned back to look at Billy, who was now looking at me from over Martha's shoulder as she hugged him. I didn't say anything; I gave no taunt. I just met his eyes and saw his raw pain and suspicion.

It was satisfactory.

I left, holding the still-warm tail of poor little Coco: my first trophy.


End file.
